


The Winchester Apple Pie Life

by mydearhenry



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curtain Fic, Domestic, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:36:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydearhenry/pseuds/mydearhenry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a series of short au drabbles about sam and dean living in domestic bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the mechanic and the professor

**Author's Note:**

> this is a compilation of my "winchester apple pie life" series on tumblr.

At some point in time, the Winchesters decide they need a long break. So, Dean takes a job at a garage fixing cars and Sam lectures at the nearby college. Sometimes during his lunch break, or if he gets off work early, Dean brings a cup of coffee to Sam, saying he’s doing this because he’s an awesome person and “you know, happy wife, happy life.” But Dean knows, as he pulls in Sam for a kiss before they start arguing about who exactly is the wife in their relationship, that he’s only here to remind the students that their hot new professor is completely, utterly, taken.

 


	2. the carpenter and the kindergarten teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by samprincesschester@tumblr

When Sam decided to become a kindergarten teacher, Dean approved because, even though he thinks Sam would be happier in a college, it meant Sam would be home by 3:30 and have dinner waiting by the time Dean got home. What Dean didn’t expect was being dragged out of his shift from time to time, to make and assemble new furniture for the classroom. When Dean asked “What, the school can’t just buy replacements?” Sam responded with a long spiel about budget cuts and apathetic administration. Dean doesn’t ask anymore.

Today, Sam asks for new shelves. Dean brings raw planks from work and sands them in the classroom before nailing them on the wall. It’s art time for the students and the classroom is chaotic. By the time he walks over to check on the shelves, Sam is smeared with paint and the smock is all but useless.

"You could have done this yourself," Dean gripes.

Sam snorts. “Yeah, while keeping the kids under control at the same time.” 

"If this is punishment for falling asleep last night before you could—"

"Dean!" Sam looks around to make sure none of the children are nearby. Dean chuckles and shrugs. He watches Sam inspect the shelves, even though they both know his work is flawless. 

"Wait, you have a—" Dean pulls off one of his gloves and moves to wipe the red paint on Sam’s cheek. As he glides his thumb over Sam’s skin, clearing the paint away, Dean’s reminded that he was cleaning blood off this face just six months ago. Now it’s paint, and all of a sudden, he realizes this is their life.

It’s frightening, to be honest, but Sam is wiping at his face and looking down at his ridiculous state, and Dean’s okay. This is their life.

"So, I’ve been promising the kids a birdhouse…" says Sam.

Dean smiles. “Yeah, okay.”


	3. the security guard and the occult store dealer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anon

It’s because of Sam’s bleeding heart that the Winchesters find themselves stuck in the mid-sized town of Backwaterville, Nowhereland, to Dean’s displeasure. They’d gotten an acquaintance of Sam’s from Stanford (who’d become a witch sometime during Sam’s absence) fatally injured in their last hunt. Sam, muttering apologies into her shoulder, ended up agreeing to take care of her grandmother’s store until her sister returned from her trip to India. 

 _Of course_  the store specialized in the occult. 

Dean only conceded because Sam needed to recuperate from his broken leg anyway, and—though he’d never admit it—it didn’t hurt that his chest felt warm watching his brother flip excitedly through the store’s substantial collection of books. He hadn’t felt that curl of pure contentment in a long time. 

So, for the next three months, Sam mans the surprisingly popular occult store, and Dean works as a security guard at the strip mall two blocks down. The job pays decently and the work isn’t demanding, but Dean is so bored that sometimes he’ll give a shoplifter a head start, just to keep the chase from ending too quickly. He takes pride in the fact that he’s the best security guard the mall’s ever had. 

The other guards go for a round of beers after work every day. Dean usually declines, saying he’s got someone waiting for him, and winks smugly when his coworkers wolf-whistle and tease him with the sound effect of a whip as he heads out. He grabs take-out on the way to the store. Once in a while, he’ll buy a small trinket too, just to see Sam’s little quirk of a smile. 

A week before Halloween, Dean sneaks one such gift into the store. As soon as Sam sits at the counter and turns his back, Dean pounces and shoves a cheap witch’s hat right over Sam’s head. 

"What the— Dean!"

"Now you look like a respectable witch," says Dean, grinning. 

Sam peers up at his brother from under the wide brim. “You’re an idiot.”

"Careful, Sam. I’m the only person who can save you from angry village mobs." Dean adjusts the hat so it’s centred. He brushes Sam’s bangs back. "Don’t worry. I won’t let them burn you at the stake."

Sam rolls his eyes. “Oh, the mall cop’s here. My hero.”

"That’s right, Sammy," says Dean, leaning down and pushing the hat back a fraction, "And I think the hero deserves a little something."

Sam huffs, but tilts his mouth up and meets Dean halfway.


	4. the short order cook and the librarian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> requested by anon

Dean doesn’t mind that Sam needs some R&R. He doesn’t mind that R&R for Sam means buying a house and working at the library. He doesn’t even mind that the only job he could find that was close enough to the library was as a short order cook at the diner across the street—after all, free food. 

What he does mind is the asshole who walks into the diner talking loudly into a bluetooth headset. Hair always perfectly combed and shirt crisp well-pressed. Subtle but well-worn expression of distaste in the curl of his lip. Dean knows the type; the guy’s probably some hotshot businessman with a thousand-dollar watch and worth a hundred per hour or something. Dean has the urge to spit in the man’s food every time he comes, and he comes pretty damn often for a guy who counts calories and probably goes on detoxes—which is weird, come to think about it. But Dean leaves it alone, figuring it’s not his problem.

Until it is. 

Dean brings Sam lunch a little later than usual and, halfway to the check-out desk, stops short when he sees the asshole almost leaning over the counter, clearly chatting Sam up. 

"Spending your lunch break here again, Mr. Turner?" 

"Please, call me Paul. Must I keep reminding you, Sam?"

Sam chuckles uncomfortably. “Right, of course.” He clears his throat. “Are you looking for a specific book?”

"No, no," says Paul, leaning forward, "I just…wanted to see you."

"Um. Uh?" 

Seeing Sam’s flustered face is enough for Dean. He strides toward the desk and calls out “Hey, Sammy!”

"Dean!" says Sam, relief colouring his bright smile.

"Sorry I’m late. My last shift was a bitch." Taking a quick glance at Paul Asshole Turner, Dean plants a brief but strong kiss to Sam’s forehead. He smirks at Sam’s surprised squeak and turns around to face the obviously irate businessman. "New friend?"

Sam swats the back of Dean’s thigh. “No food in the library,” he says, ignoring Dean’s question. “Go outside. I’ll meet you by the stairs.”

"Alright, babe," says Dean, sauntering away, but giving Paul one last gloating look.

Five minutes later, Dean watches Paul walk briskly out of the library. He feels satisfaction at the scowl on Paul’s face. Sam emerges not too long after.

"Babe?" asks Sam, incredulously. "Since when do you call me babe?"

"Since now," says Dean. "Sit down, the food’s getting cold." They sit on the steps and Dean hands Sam his container of salad. 

After a few minutes of silent chewing, Dean asks, “So, how often does that guy come here?”

"A few times a week. He—" Sam pauses. He slowly turns to look at Dean and his grin is barely contained. "Oh my god, is that what this is?"

"What?"

"The forehead kiss, the ‘babe’—you were marking your territory."

"I was not!"

Sam bursts out laughing. “You totally were, you possessive bastard.”

"I wasn’t!" Dean huffs, then mutters, "See if I save you from a pushy jackass next time."

"I’m not saying I’m not grateful. Thank you, darling." Sam snickers, moving to kiss Dean on the cheek.

Dean pulls away and stuffs a piece of steak in Sam’s mouth instead. “Shut up and eat, you idiot.” 

Sam smiles, then kisses him anyway.


End file.
